


Prelude to Overture

by xtwilightzx (blackidyll)



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: Gen, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:00:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackidyll/pseuds/xtwilightzx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joshua's a perfectionist in both his and the other world; he refuses to play anything but the best, and that, the mastery of that Music, is quite annoyingly out of his current league. </p><p>Joshua, Shibuya, and the roads that lead Joshua to his in-game position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [subarashiki_ds](http://subarashiki-ds.livejournal.com/)'s Summer Revival challenge: _Melody and Accompaniment_.

He first notices the music when he steps under the _torii_ and everything goes silent.   
  
It's an obvious enough contrast that he freezes, one hand going up to cup his ear in an instinct to hear, and he's almost surprised when a hand drops on his head and he can hear his father asking him, "Surprised, Joshua?"   
  
He hasn't gone deaf. Father is talking about the great Shinto shrine beyond the  _torii_ and Joshua concentrates, closing his eyes and straining to hear what he hadn't realized is always there. He gives himself a terrible headache but by the end of the visit he's tuned in enough that it’s audible, a different song he hadn't known to recognize, like ripples across water, the ring of wind chimes and the stately patter of  _go_  stones on a wooden board.   
  
It's still a relief to leave under the  _torii_  and to hear the usual song in the background, now that he knows to listen for it. It's pretty, a lot livelier than what he heard in the shrine, a mix of voices and stringed instruments. He walks down the stone stairway holding onto Father's hand and hums quietly under his breath, trying to emulate those sounds, but his is but one tiny note amongst the chorus of the city and the Music sweeps on, beyond him and beyond his reach.   
  


*

  
He's practically fated to be adaptive, inquisitive. He's a cusp child, born on the edge of zodiac years, right between two horoscope months, and his parents bring him up with traditional Japanese roots and Western influences hand in hand. Maybe that's why Joshua isn't surprised when he starts seeing flickers at the corner of his vision, or when those flickers coalesce into children just a few years older than him, sometimes with fear on their face, others with fierce wonderment, but always, always running.  
  
The more he tunes in to the music, the clearer he can see those other forms, so Joshua watches them. Watches the pairs of partners run and run, and when he starts seeing the black-winged ones Joshua thinks he can understand some of the deeper, darker notes in the melody's background.  
  
Joshua learns the brush, practices his calligraphy by penning poems between painting watercolor portraits, but although he knows the basics he refuses to take up any instrument. Joshua's a perfectionist in both his and the other world; he refuses to play anything but the best, and that, the mastery of that Music, is quite annoyingly out of his current league.   
  


*

  
Joshua makes a mistake the first time a prowling wild cat leaps through him for the teens down the street. He hears the gasp, a soft tearing sound, and he turns around to see the cat take down the surviving teen, ripping through the older boy's form with minimal fuss, the two disappearing like a single soft note, inconsequential, already part of the background.   
  
And of course Joshua reaches out, tries to catch a last glimpse where they're going, cat curious.   
  
"You're an anomaly, kid. Everyone's fighting to tune down and here you are, listening in on a different frequency and already climbing your way up the bandwidth."   
  
Joshua turns with a gilded smile on his face although he wants badly to snap back, indignant.  _Kid?_  He might be young, but he isn't anything like a normal child and being labeled so rankles, especially by a scruffy looking adult with the sloppiest posture Joshua has ever seen in his life.   
  
"I'm sorry?" Joshua says, pitching his voice for light and sweetness. He glances down at what probably caught this particular adult's attention and dips gracefully to retrieve his bag. "I was just a bit careless and dropped my things by accident."   
  
"Hmm," the man says, and Joshua stands perfectly still when a large stylized frog leaps toward and through him – what is with the afterlife wildlife today? – smile still perfectly in place. He doesn't advertise his knowledge of the other world; after the first few times Mother had looked at him worriedly, Joshua swiftly learned to school his expression as well. He has lied to the entire world, and it's easy to do it again with this person.   
  
Then lightning comes down from the cloudless blue sky and Joshua leaps aside, his yell of surprise almost drowned out by the crackle of electricity.   
  
"Well, that's interesting." The man rubs one hand idly against his jaw. "Huh. What an unexpected find. What's your name?"   
  
Joshua pushes himself up on his elbows. "Joshua. That's what Mother and Father call me."   
  
The man grins, like he can hear what Joshua doesn't say – the power of words that you didn't freely give to others, Joshua choosing to keep his full Japanese name and giving this one, the one that marked him an anomaly after all – and nods, looking amused and extremely gleeful. "Hanekoma Sanae. Let's have a chat. Hey, I'll even let you have the first cup of coffee at half-price."   
  


*

  
Joshua goes to Mr. Hanekoma's cafe for almost three years and he notices a few interesting things about it.   
  
Noise don't go near it. The ones who call themselves Reapers, they seem to glide pass the shop as if their eyes skip over it completely. It's one of Joshua's favored locations to eavesdrop; Hachiko's statue is the best location with Reapers and Players flocking there alike, but the buzz of Noise and the Player's battles can be overwhelming. The Wildkat Cafe draws less of a crowd, but Joshua doesn't get headaches there.   
  
He pieces the concept of the Game together from countless eavesdropping sessions and it amuses him how very invisible he is while hiding plainly in sight.   
  
"You know, Josh, you could ask me some questions instead of just talking at me," Mr. Hanekoma says to him; he still sets out the fine tea for Joshua even if he complains about Joshua's lack of appreciate for coffee."For all you know, I might even reveal one or two secrets."   
  
"No," Joshua answers with a smile; he'll gather all that he can himself so that when he finally asks he'll get the answers he wants – the most important information.   
  
He still reaches out for the Music, Shibuya's Music, trying to understand it, to hear it in its entirety. Sometimes, very rarely, he even tries to change the direction of its melody. Not even the WildKat's tranquility can save him from that particular migraine.   
  
"You shouldn't really do that." Mr. Hanekoma drops a wet cloth on his head and graciously sets down an iced tea far away that Joshua's irritated hand swipe couldn't topple it.   
  
Joshua pulls the cloth away enough to glare at the man and asks his first Underground-related question. "I'm not hurting the Music, am I?"   
  
Mr. Hanekoma is laughing at him, behind that grin of his. "Not at all, kid. Not at all."   
  
"Good," Joshua says, and it comes out vicious. "I wish it'll just listen to me for once, though. It sounds just the tiniest bit off."   
  
Mr. Hanekoma looks at him and Joshua can feel it, the weight of his gaze heavy and considering. The laughter's still in his voice when he says, "Shibuya's a city, Josh. And a city doesn't listen to just anyone," but when Joshua meets his eyes they're utterly serious. "There is one being Shibuya would follow, though. Would you like to hear more?"   
  
Joshua pulls himself upright, migraine half-forgotten.   
  


*

  
It's quite appropriate, Joshua thinks, to be standing at a crossroad at the darkest hour before dawn. The streets are empty; he's alone but for Shibuya's Music.  
  
Smiling, Joshua presses the gun to the side of his head and pulls the trigger.   
  


*

  
Seven days. The quality of Shibuya's Song is different in the Underground; Joshua loses touch of it every now and then but he has to concentrate on the Game, keep his mind on the end goal, the greater picture.   
  
The Composer isn't anything Joshua had imagined him to be, even after going through the Conductor. So incredibly powerful and all-knowing and yet with too-human flaws; he might have been right for Shibuya a century ago, but not now. They're out of synch, the harmony pulled apart and the problem is either in the city or in the Composer.   
  
It's not Shibuya, so it must be the Composer.   
  
Joshua smiles at the ethereal being before him. "Soon, you'll play accompaniment to my melody."  
  
"What?" the Composer snaps, but Joshua simply flips his hair out of his face. He can feel the power under his fingertips and cradles it in the curve his palm, keeping it banked, no open arms yet. He's speaking to Shibuya, and Shibuya is there, its melody as chaotically wild and beautiful and as clear as Joshua has ever heard it and he'll take it, he'll take it all.   
  


*

  
  
He stands on the edge of Underground Shibuya and somewhere much higher, looking down at the buildings and familiar pathways. There are flickers here and there, static but not Noise, all of Shibuya still shivery and recovering from the transfer of power.   
  
Shibuya is quietly content, a soft humming rhythm with just the slightest wild-flung note, a sudden thrill, a cluster of cadences there, potential around every turn. It's everywhere; he can hear every note so very clearly now, even the faint melody played in pianissimo, and Shibuya's still beautiful for the flaws in its Song, the rare missed beat. Shibuya is tired; he's just come into its powers and even so he can feel the difference, his own Music bright and vibrant with murder, with life, and Shibuya's like an ancient willow tree, weighted by the ages like the many layers of a kimono.   
  
"What will you do now that you have Shibuya in the palm of your hands, Josh?"   
  
The voice is far too familiar and Hanekoma's there, peering down at Shibuya with his usual bland expression and slouchy posture. And then there are the wings, half-folded against the length of his back, delicate and ethereal and serenely powerful in a way that even Joshua's own now pale and glowing hands can't quite rival.   
  
 _Not yet_ , Joshua thinks and he isn't terribly surprised when Hanekoma grins, catching the thought, approving for all the wrong Angelic reasons.   
  
He'd retired up here himself to avoid putting further strain on the district, to test his new powers, and already it's easy to open himself up fully to Shibuya's Music, to reach out one hand and smooth out all the jarring notes. There's a thought at the back of his mind and Joshua goes from editing Shibuya's Music to actively changing it.   
  
 _You're a little tired, aren't you?_  Joshua thinks.  _All these changes in our country, it's been hard on you. Why don't you let me take the lead?_  
  
When he opens his eyes, he's glowing brightly and Shibuya is all around him, tuned to his Music, following his beat, the accompaniment to his composition. Joshua's a cusp child, adaptive and inquisitive and an anomaly. Shibuya will be all that, and more. Joshua will see to it.   
  
Hanekoma's grinning at him – and that  _is_  an expresso glass in his hand, of all things.   
  
"Good answer, boss. I think the two of you will do just fine."


End file.
